


Welterweight

by Thalius



Series: Careful Treaties [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Babysitting, Bar fights, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence - Order 66, Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Lunch Dates, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: The less people need Obi-Wan, the less he can keep it together.
Relationships: Dexter Jettster & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Careful Treaties [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921396
Comments: 47
Kudos: 400





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be part of a larger AU I'm working on, the gist of which is: no Order 66, the clone wars end, and everyone has to figure out what the hell to do next.

It was with some disappointment that he realised his nose wasn’t broken. It still bled like hell, but the cartilage was luckily, unfortunately, intact. 

Obi-Wan coughed. To the extent that he could smell anything right now, the cloth cupped under his nose smelled harshly of lye soap and industrial cleaner—clearly meant for wiping down countertops and not for nursing barfight bruises. He let it burn his lungs with each uneven inhale, suppressing the urge to gag. The pain was good—the pain was distracting. 

Closing his eyes, he relaxed back against the concrete steps outside the back of Dex’s diner. 

He felt each beat of his heart pulse painfully in his nose, and against the bruise that was forming on his cheek. The pain was good, but it wasn’t enough. His chest was no less heavy, his stomach no less knotted. Whatever adrenaline had flooded his system during the fight was already receding, leaving him miserably to his own thoughts.

He directed his attention outwards, greeting every detail of his surroundings with gratitude, almost like a friend. The sharp smell of refuse and dirt in the alleyway; the cracked lines heaved into the pavement underneath his feet; the faraway sound of traffic whizzing above him; the steam and smoke venting from the kitchen ducts beside the back door. He allowed his mind to linger on all of them, to appreciate the complexity of the world he was forced to find himself in. 

Even that distraction faded quickly. There was only so much one could know about the enclosed alleyway behind a diner. But then, mercifully, the door opened, and out came Dex. He was spared from himself for the time being.

Wordlessly, the besalisk handed him a bottle of water, and with a nod Obi-Wan took it. “Thank you,” he muffled, and wiped at his face with the cloth. It was soaked through with blood, and his hand was stained with it. Leaning forward, he uncapped the bottle and poured a handful of its contents into his palm, wiping it across his face. The tepid water stung, and pink droplets dotted the concrete in front of him as they ran down his chin.

“I can get you another cloth,” Dex said, somewhat irritated. “I gave you that to drink.”

“Right,” he whispered, and took a swig. There was a small lesion inside his mouth, he discovered. The water stung against that, too.

Wiping his wet hand on his jeans and setting aside the bottle, he propped his leg out to dig into his pants pocket. Out came a chit, which he held out in offering to Dex between his fingers.

“What is that?”

“My per diem card,” he said, sniffling. “Charge whatever you want from it.”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s upper set of arms crossed over his chest. “For what?”

He frowned, arm still outstretched. “For the table,” he replied impatiently. “I broke one.”

“You broke two.”

They continued to stare at one another. Dex didn’t take the card. Eventually Obi-Wan heaved a sigh—which burned his nose—and let his arm fall into his lap. “Then what is it?” he whispered.

“If all I wanted out of you was money, I’d have tossed you out on your ass and billed the Temple.” Dex sounded annoyed, a rare enough thing in its own right, and Obi-Wan found real anger in his eyes when he looked at him again.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he offered meekly.

“I’m not offended,” he said, resigned. “I’m confused. Enlighten me.” One of the arms not crossed gestured at Obi-Wan. “No robes, no saber. You come here in the middle of the night, and then you start a fight with one of my customers.”

“He technically started it,” Obi-Wan corrected him, and immediately regretted it, because Dex’s glare only got more intense. “But your point is taken. I know it’s… odd.”

“Odd,” Dex echoed, and harrumphed. “Pretty fuckin’ peculiar is what I would call it.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, and dabbed at his nose again with the cloth. “I don’t really have an explanation for you.”

“Every man has a reason for pulling a stunt like that.”

When he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, it smeared red. He probably looked awful. “Right,” he muttered. “Well, I suppose I’ll start with an apology—”

“Don’t apologise,” Dex snapped. “If you want forgiveness, you got it. Just explain.”

He smiled at his friend, but didn’t dally any longer. “Of course. Where to begin….” Obi-Wan coughed again, trying to figure out how to start. How to get out everything that was burning against the insides of his skull. 

Dex was patient, gave him space to order his thoughts without filling the silence with his own. It was a nice change of pace.

“The war is finished,” he finally said, deciding to begin there. It was impersonal enough. “But I’m almost busier now than I was during it. Cleaning up—well, everything,” he said, gesturing around them with the bloody cloth. “You know how big it was. The war ravaged over a hundred planets. But now I’ve been given assignments more in line with what the Jedi used to do—what I was originally trained to be doing. Diplomatic engagements and such. Many systems need convincing to remain in the Republic. We don’t want them building another Confederacy and starting all of this up again.”

Dex sat down heavily on the steps just outside the door. His expression had softened, curious instead of upset. “And you have a problem with that?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I enjoy mediation as much as any of my peers do, and I’m good at it, I just—” He exhaled, and scrunched the cloth in his hands. “The war felt like it lasted decades. Returning to normal isn’t an easy affair.”

It would be incorrect to say that he missed warfare. He had despised every moment of it, and rejoiced its end, but it had also become familiar to him in a way no other engagement in his career had. The Jedi had been put on a tight leash for the war’s entirety—he always knew who he reported to, and always knew who reported to him. The comparatively nebulous task of statecraft and diplomatic arbitration gave him too much latitude. Were he a decade younger and far less important, he would have relished the oversight afforded to him, but not now. Any assignment that involved emergency aid or refugee evacuation was a welcome one—at least then he was deployed with his men.

“You’re not a stupid man,” Dex murmured. Obi-Wan glanced up at him, his mouth twitching, wondering if he should dispute that claim. “So forgive me if this sounds condescending. But have you considered taking a vacation?”

Obi-Wan snorted—and immediately regretted it. He hissed and held the cloth to his face again. “I can’t,” he muffled into the cloth. “Too busy.”

“There are other Jedi aside from you, aren’t there?”

“Yes, but—”

“Can’t your Skywalker boy take on some of those duties?”

“Anakin’s left the Order.”

“Aaah.” The syllable was long and drawn out, full of realisation—along with a triumphant grin on his friend’s face.

Obi-Wan didn’t care for it at all. “What?”

“Every man has a reason,” Dex said. “Sounds like that one’s yours.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. I’m happy for him. He left on good terms—he’s even getting married.”

“I’m not denying any of that.”

“Well then—” He huffed, irritated. “That has nothing to do with—with any of this—”

“Yes it does.”

His temper flared. “No, it does  _ not—” _

“I’ve known you,” Dex interrupted, forcefully and loudly enough to quiet him, “for a long time. And in the past thirteen or so years, I haven’t had a single conversation with you that didn’t involve that boy. You’re allowed to be upset that he’s gone.”

“I’m not upset,” he whispered, and wiped at his face. The cloth was so soiled it dripped blood at the slightest pressure. 

“Your nose and my tables say otherwise.”

He’d been betrayed. Not by Dex, or anyone else, but by his own body. His eyes misted, and not from his nose. Pressure built at his temples, joining the already horrid chorus of painful throbbing in his head. His throat tightened without warning.

“Obi-Wan.”

He met Dex’s eyes. The open kindness he found in them was too much to bear, so he stared at the garbage cans instead. 

“Maybe you should take some time off,” Dex suggested gently.

He shook his head again, though not entirely in disagreement. “No,” he whispered. “First it was Qui-Gon, then Ahsoka, and now Anakin. I cannot walk away until I’ve done something to fix all of it.”

He expected reproach. Instead, the besalisk’s considerable belly ballooned as he let out a sharp, barking laugh, so sudden and unexpected that it startled Obi-Wan upright. 

“I don’t mean walk away!” Dex guffawed. “Gods, you take everything so seriously. How about you take two weeks off, for starters. Sleep. Visit friends. Do whatever you want. But walking around with a kick-me sign on your back isn’t going to solve anything for you. And if you keep pulling stunts like this, eventually someone'll recognise you, and then you’ll be in even deeper shit than you are now.”

“I know.”

“So then listen to me!”

It hurt to smile, but he did it anyway. “Perhaps I will.”

“No perhaps about it.” Dex stood up with a grunt, and then walked over to offer a hand to Obi-Wan. “Get up.”

He did, groaning as the inflamed joint in his knee protested the movement. “How is the other fellow?” he asked then, working his swollen joint. “He’s a good fighter.”

“Told him to slip off. He won’t cause any problems.”

Obi-Wan felt his stomach sink. “I should apologise,” he whispered. “Or do something for—”

“You said he started it.”

“He did,” he said slowly. He kept a hold of Dex’s arm as he regained his balance. His head was still swimming a little. “But I shouldn’t have escalated it.”

“Shoulda coulda woulda,” Dex muttered. He glanced back at the door. “You coming inside? I can get you something.”

Obi-Wan patted his arm. “I think I’ve caused you enough grief for one day. I mean it about the tables.”

“I know you do.” 

Dex watched him disapprovingly as he pulled his sweater hood back up around his head and straightened his jacket. Aside from his face, and the blood spattered on his jeans, he looked like any other pedestrian on Coruscant’s topside. It would be a challenge to get back into the Temple unnoticed, and even more difficult to hide what he’d done to himself, but at this time of night he could probably risk scaling the wall and entering through the gardens. 

“You need somewhere to stay?” Dex asked then.

“No. I’m actually—” He frowned at his chrono. “I have a meeting in three hours. I need to get cleaned up.” 

“Use the staff bathroom before you go,” Dex said, and his eyes narrowed at Obi-Wan’s easily-anticipated refusal. “I’m serious. You look like shit.”

His face flushed. “Right.”

Dex yanked open the back door and ushered him inside. He shuffled him through the kitchens then, nodding to the waitstaff as he passed, who seemed to be a mix of confused and wary. 

“There’s a first-aid kit in there,” Dex said quietly to him as they ducked into the break room. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the noise of the kitchens. “Toss whatever you need to in the garbage can. Marnie will clean up after you’re done.”

He winced. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Maybe, but I am anyway.”

“Dex—”

He’d been making for the door, but stopped and looked back at him. Obi-Wan held out his card again.

“Please. Do it as a favour for me, if nothing else,” he urged, smiling weakly. “It’ll put my mind at ease.”

“You have a funny way of relaxing,” Dex said, but then, after a moment of consideration, he finally took the card. “This charge will probably get flagged.”

“Probably,” Obi-Wan agreed. “But I’ll deal with it.” Maybe then he’d be yelled at—maybe then he’d face some small price for what he’d just done.

With a look he couldn’t quite decipher, Dex ducked out of the break room. The noise of the kitchen tumbled into the room when he opened the door, then muffled again at its closing.

Obi-Wan turned and sequestered himself into the adjoining restroom. It was narrow, and lit with a single, harsh fluorescent bulb, bare in its socket in the middle of the ceiling. A far cry from Master Vokara Che’s grand Halls of Healing, but this had the benefit of solitude. There would be time for reprimands later.

He did his best to wring out the cloth Dex had given him for his nose, but it was horribly stained, and nothing aside from a significant amount of bleach would get it out. He tossed it into the garbage disposal. 

Next he washed his hands. His knuckles were read with bruises and a few scrapes, but he’d been hurting his hands in saber practice since he was a boy, so the pain was only a minor, familiar annoyance. His face was another story.

The mirror in the bathroom was not flattering, and he was not in a flattering state to begin with. Every line on his face was pulled into sharp relief, digging heavy grooves into his skin and making him look years his own senior. The fluorescent bulb cast his skin in a horrifically pale shade, and the blood had dried a dark brown on his face and into his beard, nearly black in some places. 

“I don’t need a vacation,” he told his reflection, and then ducked towards the tap, scrubbing his face with water.


	2. Chapter 2

“I told you I look good in a uniform.”

Padmé watched Anakin puff himself in front of the mirror with amusement. “I never said you didn’t,” she replied, smiling at her husband’s reflection. “I just said it was unnecessary.”

“Walking around naked in the Senate building would draw attention,” Anakin reminded her, turning around with a grin.

She rolled her eyes. “Not what I meant.”

“It’s just for today,” he promised. “I have a funny feeling.”

As he’d kept saying. Not the kind of funny feeling that warranted him standing in for her normal security detail to protect her—that was just a cover, he’d assured her. He’d failed to elaborate further on why it was so important for him to attend a closed-door Senate meeting, something he would normally do everything in his power to avoid, but she had her suspicions. 

“The twins are all set?” she asked, patting herself down to check that she had everything.

“Passed out in the crèche when I left,” Anakin assured her, following her out into the living room. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

It was difficult to find a babysitter experienced with a Force-sensitive child, not to mention two of them. Which meant they ended up, more often than not, using the Temple nursery as their go-to. Anakin was quick to assuage her guilt about leaving them there—Luke and Leia were loved by the Jedi caretakers, and it was the least they could do after all his years of service to the Order. Padmé wasn’t so sure about that last part, even if she was inclined to agree, but it was the best option they had. It just meant they couldn’t move away from Coruscant for the next several years unless they managed to hire on a Jedi as their nanny.

They exited their apartment and made for the parking garage. Anakin kept a hand low on her back as they walked, and she tried her best to keep her smile in check. She wasn’t sure when she’d get used to them being openly together in public, but she hoped it wasn’t any time soon. 

“Now, as your temporary head of security,” Anakin said as he remotely started their speeder, “I will be doing all the driving for today.”

“Oh really?” She opened the passenger side door and stepped in, then watched him do the same on the driver’s side. He adjusted the seat far back, then flicked it into gear.

“That way you can prep for the meeting,” he continued, pulling out of their parking space, “and I can keep you safe.”

She smiled. “How chivalric of you.”

Despite his obviously teasing tone, it did actually give her time to look over her notes. They were pulling together a strategy for the Mid-Rim, which had been left incredibly unstable from the war. Multiple planets were already in talks of splintering from the Republic, dissatisfied with how brutalised they’d been from Confederacy occupation and disillusioned with Republic protection. Now the Republic needed the Jedi even more than they had before, dispatched not as generals but as the envoys they were always meant to be, tasked with listening to the grievances of these disaffected systems and building individual plans for them to remain in the Republic body. It was harrowing, tedious work, and it would occupy all her waking hours for the next several years at least.

She felt a calming prod from Anakin as he pulled them into one of the upper skylanes of traffic. It wasn’t exactly a question—more of an offer for her to speak her mind if she needed to do so. Padmé smiled down at her laptop, and snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eyes.

“You never told me what your funny feeling was about,” she mused. “I hope it’s not anything bad. I want this meeting to go well.” 

“Oh, that.” He tapped a finger on the steering wheel as he thought. “Sort of. About the meeting, I mean. I know Obi-Wan will be there.”

She looked up at him. “Is that okay?” 

“More than okay,” he replied easily. “But I think he’s… I dunno. He’s inside his own head too much.”

“I don’t envy him that,” Padmé murmured, and Anakin laughed.

“No clue how he stands listening to himself all the time.”

Padmé bit her lip. “Is that why you’re going, then? Because of Obi-Wan?”

“And you,” he added, shooting her a grin. “You could make watching paint dry fun.”

She laughed. “This’ll be a lot worse than paint drying, I’m afraid.”

Anakin shrugged goodnaturedly but said nothing more, which was fine with her. He didn’t really need to. His relationship with his former Master had improved significantly ever since he’d left the Order, and it had already been good during the war. She was overjoyed by it—even if Anakin didn’t get to see him nearly as often as he’d like to. 

“Maybe we could go out for lunch with him after,” she ventured. “Grab the kids and bring them with us. I still need to give him his wedding invitation.”

His eyes twinkled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That would be cool.”

* * *

Walking through the halls of the Senate building with absolutely no responsibility to anybody inside of them was incredibly liberating. He used to hate coming here—it meant presentations, meetings, and a whole lot of furtive conversations with people he categorically despised talking to. 

Now he got to walk these same halls with Padmé, concerned only with her. And if their hands brushed or shoulders touched, nobody would whisper about it or share sidelong glances he pretended not to see. Now they could just be.

“Officially you aren’t supposed to be in the meeting,” Padmé was saying to him. “You won’t be counted for quorum, and you won’t have any voting privileges. You also can’t comment on any motions put forth—”

“So I have to just sit there and look pretty,” he surmised. 

She smiled up at him. “I’m sure that’ll be easy for you.”

He gave her a look. “I don’t know if that was a compliment or not.”

“What do your Jedi senses tell you?”

“That’s not how that works—”

His words died out as he felt the air shift. It wasn’t a sudden thing; he’d been able to feel Obi-Wan ever since they’d entered the Senate building. But his presence had steadily been growing stronger as they got closer, and now it finally reached a threshold that was too intense to ignore.

Padmé touched his arm. “What is it?” 

“Obi-Wan,” he murmured. “He’s… pretty stressed.”

“Let’s go find him, then.”

They took an elevator up to one of the various floors that was full of conference rooms and meeting spaces. Catering staff wheeled carts through the hallways as they passed, interspersed with various suits and diplomats running for meetings they were probably late to. 

The conference room they were using was open, with people filtering in and out, chatting idly to one another before the meeting was underway. He recognised most of them as other senators, along with a few Mid-Rim envoys who’d come to negotiate on behalf of their systems. There were even a few Jedi in the mix, including Master Windu.

“High-profile crowd,” Anakin murmured, nodding as they passed a few people he only remembered the names of because they were wearing a nametag. “I’m gonna go talk to Mace.”

Padmé squeezed his arm, already turning away to greet someone. She was in full senator mode now. “Meet you in the room,” she said in a hasty farewell.

Master Windu smiled at his approach, and gave a shallow bow to him in greeting. “Skywalker,” he said warmly. “I’m surprised to see you in attendance.”

“I’m just tagging along,” he replied, and made a show of appraising the growing crowd. “You guys sure are busy.”

“More than ever.”

“How’s—you know, everything? Temple still standing, and all that?”

“As it ever was,” Mace said. “Demilitarising has been an interesting process, but a welcome one. It’ll take time to resume our regular duties.”

“What, you mean puffing up dignitaries and arguing in court?”

Master Windu gave him a sidelong glance, not quite a reprimand. “Among other things,” he said. “Though I’m afraid I can’t discuss the specifics.”

It was subtle, the way he’d said the words, but Anakin still picked up on it. Mace’s tone was not judgemental—the man seemed genuinely pleased with his company. And yet he’d heard the same tense undercurrent before, when Qui-Gon had brought him before the Council as a boy. He was an outsider, however well-connected, and that meant he should be treated with caution.

It stung, but not enough to make it into anything. He forced a grin. “Well, I’m happy to see you aren’t falling apart without me.”

Mace smiled back softly. “We’ve had to make some adjustments in the wake of your departure, but we’re managing.”

“Glad to hear it.” He shuffled awkwardly, uncomfortable with how suffocating the silence was in between each exchange. “And Obi-Wan?”

“Setting up for the meeting inside,” Mace told him, though that hadn’t been what he was asking. “I wouldn’t bother him,” he added then. “It’s been a stressful few months for him.”

Anakin finally narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to bother him,” he said. “Just gonna say hi.” 

He patted Mace’s shoulder in parting, and left before he could say anything more. He could feel the Jedi Master’s eyes on him as he made his way to the door, but Mace didn’t try to stop him. 

He wouldn’t have been able to if he tried.

The conference room was large, big enough to accommodate upwards of fifty people. It was one of the exterior rooms, which meant it had outward-facing windows. Their curtains had all been flung back, allowing natural light to filter in and warm the eastern half of the giant conference desk. 

Near the head of the room was Obi-Wan and Cody, standing hunched over a datapad, their heads bowed close to one another. It had been awhile since Anakin had seen any of the clones; they’d been enfranchised into the Republic state when the war ended, and many of them had left service altogether. 

Not Cody, though. He was wearing his dress greys, smartly pressed, his hair still the same close-cropped cut it always was. From this angle Anakin couldn’t see the tiny incision at his temple that complimented the commander’s other scar, but he knew it was there.

“Still conspiring, I see,” he said with a grin, and they both looked up in unison.

His smile faltered almost immediately when he got a good look at Obi-Wan. His nose sported a bandage, and there was a cut on his left cheek, just under his eye, that was held together with a butterfly stitch. Even more worrying was the exhausted, well-worn look on his face, the expression of someone who’d lost all steam a long time ago and was stubbornly, inexplicably continuing to go on anyway. 

Anakin was familiar with that expression. He’d just naively hoped it would’ve been gone by now.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, genuinely surprised. There was no way he hadn’t felt Anakin’s presence; he must be really out of it. 

“What did you… do to yourself?” he asked. It had meant to come out light and teasing, but he couldn’t quite find the humour for it now.

“Oh, this?” He touched his cheek. “I was being an idiot.” Obi-Wan cleared his throat then, trying his best to sound cheerful. “I’m surprised to see you here. I know you hate these things.”

“I’m Senator Amidala’s plus one,” he replied, and flattened back against the wall as a technician brushed past him to set up the projector. “Long time no see, by the way,” he said to Cody, nodding to the man.

“Gener—uh, Skywalker,” Cody replied.

“How’s things?”

“Busy,” he said, his mouth twitching. “It’s funny. Rex was just asking about you yesterday.”

“I gotta call him tonight.” He looked back at Obi-Wan, who was staring off into the middle-distance. “Hey.” He snapped his fingers at him. “You wanna catch lunch after?”

“Lunch?” Obi-Wan frowned, absorbing the words slowly. “I think so….” He looked down at his chrono as if to check the time, but he lingered too long on the dial. “Hm.”

Anakin frowned back. “You… doing okay?”

“Just distracted,” he replied, as if that was reassuring, and gave an unconvincing smile. 

Before Anakin could ask any further questions, people began to pile into the conference room. Padmé was among them, and nodded for him to come sit next to her. With a parting, concerned look for his old Master, he walked to the other end of the table and joined his wife.

* * *

The meeting ended up being over two hours long. Anakin paid attention whenever Padmé spoke, but otherwise he mostly tuned the conversation out. Instead he spent most of that time prodding at the edges of Obi-Wan’s register in the Force, gently pressing against its sharp and jagged corners. As far as he could tell, Obi-Wan was paying about as much attention to the meeting as Anakin was; whenever he wasn’t being asked a direct question, his eyes unfocused and he stared out at some fixed space on the conference room wall. Master Windu and Cody picked up most of the slack for him, and neither seemed particularly fazed by it. This had become a regular thing, then.

Anakin tried to send him soothing nudges, to ease whatever conflict he was clearly torturing himself over, but Obi-Wan remained closed off. He could feel his tumultuous mood, but beyond that, Obi-Wan was a wall. It was like catching the heat curling off a stone that had been baking in the sun; he only knew of what sizzled off the surface.

Eventually, after a small eternity, the meeting ended. Padmé lingered to speak with the other senators, more out of obligation and strategy than a genuine enjoyment of their company. And Anakin didn’t want to abandon her, but Obi-Wan and Cody were making for the exit, and he had not suffered through a two-hour snooze-fest just to watch Obi-Wan walk away.

There were about a dozen senators in his way, though, and by the time he’d slipped past them with a few perfunctory smiles and nods and comments of  _ wow it’s been a while!, _ the hallway outside the conference room was empty.

Not to be deterred, Anakin followed their path, feeling around for them. He wasn’t supposed to be wandering around the Senate building unsupervised, especially because his pass was tied to Padmé’s, but—

“Cody!” he whispered loudly, rounding a corner and seeing the commander loitering about near the end of the hall. The man looked deeply distracted, frowning down at his comm. 

“Skywalker,” he said, only sparing a brief glance before looking back down at his wrist. “It was good to s—”

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” He looked at the nearest doors—a restroom. “Is he in there?”

“Ah, yes, but—”

Anakin shoved into the bathroom, narrowly avoided hitting someone with the door as they came out, offered a hasty apology, and then finally spotted Obi-Wan. He was standing in front of the line of sinks, dabbing delicately at the bridge of his nose. He’d peeled off the old bandage and was applying disinfectant before he put on a fresh one.

“Yeesh,” Anakin muttered. “You get in a fight or something?”

Obi-Wan looked at him through the reflection of the mirror. “It’s a long story,” he replied, and hissed as he touched a sensitive spot.

“I can help you with that.” 

“I’m alright—”

Anakin took the fresh bandage he’d been fumbling with and tapped his shoulder. With a sigh, Obi-Wan acquiesced and turned to face him. 

“These look like,” he mused, ripping the sterile package open, “they’re store bought.”

“They are,” Obi-Wan replied, eyeing him warily.

“Which means you didn’t go to the Halls to get fixed up,” Anakin continued, and then centered his face with a hand. “Hold still.”

He peeled the sterile wings off the bandage as he laid it across the bridge of Obi-Wan’s nose, who was doing his best to look grumpy about the help. 

“There,” he said, turning his head to inspect the strip now laid across his nose. “Good?”

Obi-Wan smoothed his thumb and forefinger across the length of the bandage. “Good,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

Anakin swept up the garbage on the sink’s edge from the bandage and tossed it away. “You could tell me what happened,” he said, leaning against the counter. There was no one else in here right now, so they had a moment of privacy.

“I could,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“I won’t snitch on you,” Anakin promised him, hand to chest. “Jedi’s honour.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched as he considered the offer. “It’s good to see you, Anakin,” he said instead, though he didn’t look particularly happy.

A dozen flippant replies came to mind. Anakin dismissed all of them. “Are you okay? You look….”  _ Awful _ was how he was planning to end that sentence, but that wasn’t quite right. The look on Obi-Wan’s face was familiar—he’d worn it the first year or so Anakin had been his Padawan. 

But that had been a long time ago, and a lot had happened since Qui-Gon’s death.

“You look tired,” Anakin eventually settled on, and even that didn’t seem right.

Obi-Wan gave a furtive glance to the bathroom door. “Don’t ask me that unless you want to hear the answer,” he whispered, his smile rueful.

They were interrupted by someone entering the restroom. Anakin waited until they ducked into a stall, then set a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. They weren’t going to get anywhere standing in here, clearly, so he’d try a different tack. “Padmé invited you to lunch, which is why I came to find you,” he told him, striking a deliberately casual tone, and pulled them towards the exit. “It’s non-negotiable.”

“Anakin—”

“We just have to swing by the Temple and pick up the twins first.”

Cody was still outside when they came out, still heavily absorbed with whatever he was reading on his comm. He looked up briefly as they passed, and then did a double-take. “General,” he called, and followed after them. “I need a word—”

“It can wait,” Anakin told him. 

“It’s not really—”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulled them to a stop in the middle of the hall. “Just… hold on. Please.”

“You hold on.” He looked at Cody. “Is it really that important? Whatever you have to talk about?”

The commander raised a brow. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you, sir.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “Again with this—”

“Ani?”

They all looked towards the sound of Padmé’s voice, and he felt Obi-Wan relax in his grip.  _ She has that effect,  _ Anakin thought, and grinned at her. “Hey,” he called to her as she approached. “I was just telling Obi-Wan our afternoon plans.”

She slipped into their weird half-circle and greeted Obi-Wan with a squeeze of his hand. “General Kenobi,” she said politely, though Anakin suspected it had more to do with how not-private the conversation was than any genuine attempt at maintaining formality. “I hope life is treating you well.”

“As well as it ever does,” he replied, giving her a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re looking lovely as ever.”

“Thank you. I’m enjoying family life.” She shot a glance at Anakin before looking over to Cody. “And you, Commander. You’re welcome to join us for lunch.”

“If you guys don’t talk about work,” Anakin added.

Cody ignored him, and nodded to Padmé. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve got another meeting scheduled in thirty.”

“That’s on the clone treaties, isn’t it?”

“Sort of,” he said, suddenly looking very tired. “It’s a whole lot of committees talking past one another. I’m one of the voting reps, so I can’t skip.”

“I hope it gets legs soon,” she said warmly. “I know it’s been tangled up in lower legislation for months.”

“Same here.” He tapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder then. “But before I leave, I really need a quick word.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan nodded to the both of them. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He and Cody pulled off to the side, further down the corridor, and Anakin blew out a breath.

“Man, he is—”

“You can’t run off like that,” Padmé said to him quietly, moving them away from the middle of the hall. “If you get too far away from me, the proximity alert on our security clearance goes off—” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, and then doubled down when Padmé gave him a disapproving look. “Really, I know. Everyone’s been reminding me all morning I’m not part of the club anymore. But Obi-Wan is….”

“Stressed?” she offered.

“He looks bad, doesn’t he?” Anakin snuck a glance in their direction. “I swear he’s got more grey in his hair than I remember.”

Padmé followed his gaze, looking worriedly over her shoulder. “Did you two talk at all?”

“Not really. But he definitely has a lot on his mind. Maybe it should just be the three of us,” he reasoned. “I don’t want him to hold back because of the kids.”

“Actually, I think they’ll help,” Padmé said, looking back at him with a smile. “Remind him of the family he’s got.”

“You think so?”

“Anakin, he kept looking at you in the meeting.” Padmé touched his arm. “He probably misses you like crazy. And I know he likes it when you call him grandpa, even though he pretends not to.”

He grinned. “I’ve called him that for years anyway.”

“Yeah, but now you have a good reason.”

Cody and Obi-Wan were pulling away. He nodded to Padmé. “Go convince Obi-Wan to come with us.”

She frowned. “I thought he already was?”

“Yeah, but he’s gonna try to weasel out of it. And he never says no to you.”

She gave him a look. “Is that so?”

“Well, he never says no when we’re both around. Go on, before he hides somewhere again.”

“Come with me,” she urged, and grabbed his hand before he could say anything.

“You can come to my office tonight,” Obi-Wan was saying. “We can begin a write-up.”

“Sounds good to me. Senator, Skywalker.” Cody nodded to both of them as they got close. “I have to head off now.”

“Good luck with the meeting,” Padmé said. 

“I’ll need it,” he muttered. With a nod and a wave he pulled away, heading towards the bank of conference rooms they’d been using earlier.

“Everything good?” Anakin asked, turning back to Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” he said absently. He had his comm out again. “I think I have enough time to—”

“We wanted to talk to you,” Padmé cut in, making him look up. “About the wedding.”

He finally gave a smile that seemed genuine. “Of course.”

“And to catch up,” Anakin added. “It’s been forever.”

“It has been a while,” he agreed. He reached out and squeezed Anakin’s arm, like he suddenly needed the anchor, and acquiesced with a nod. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

Anakin beamed. “Let’s.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Obi-Wan and Anakin are like those otters who hold hands when they fall asleep so they don’t drift apart in the river current

He was exceedingly deferential about where they went for lunch, a concession that Anakin side-eyed him for from the driver’s seat of their speeder.

“You really don’t care,” Anakin stated, looking at him over his shoulder.

“No. Please watch the road.”

He shook his head but thankfully turned back around. “You always care about everything. Especially what restaurant you eat at.”

Obi-Wan flashed him a smile in the rear view mirror, bright enough to ease the wary tilt of his old Padawan’s brows. “I am your guest for the afternoon. And I trust Padmé’s tastes.”

“Your flattery will get you far, Obi-Wan,” she said, smiling back at him.

“No need to play favourites,” Anakin muttered. “You’re already the number one in-law.”

In truth, he was just thankful the suggestion to go to Dex’s wasn’t brought up. Anakin had used it on several occasions to butter him up for an unpleasant conversation, so much so that it had become something of a ritual. Turning down such an offer now would’ve caused a traffic accident.

Instead they went to a popular senatorial spot near Terracotta plaza, refreshingly unbusy this time of day. The twins were amicable enough throughout the meal, but only on the condition that they be removed from their high chairs every fifteen minutes to be held in order to divert all adult attention to them. It was a devious plot, and it worked every time.

“I don’t mind,” Obi-Wan assured Anakin and Padmé, carefully removing his fork from Luke’s grasp and replacing it with his thumb. The boy didn’t seem to notice. 

“They only get away with it when you’re here,” Padmé replied, bending down out of the booth to grab a crayon Leia had dropped on the floor. “We’re trying to get them to sit longer.”

“I think you’re well on your way already. They’re fantastically behaved. Aren’t you?” He wiggled his thumb in Luke’s grasp, and the boy looked up to appraise him with curious eyes. It was impossible not to smile back. “He looks like you when you were a boy, Anakin,” he mused, sneaking a glance across the table.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “So you keep saying.”

“It bears repeating.” With his free hand he reached around Luke’s head to grab his wine glass. “Thank you, for the invite,” he said to both of them. “I needed a break.”

“You sure look like it,” Anakin replied. The concerned pinch at the corner of his eyes were an obvious tell that he was about to say more.

“Well,  _ you _ both look wonderful.” Obi-Wan nodded to them across the table, pre-empting any follow-up questions. “Post-Order life is treating you well, I see.”

“Yeah, you know.” Anakin shrugged, but the twitch at his mouth was undeniable. It never quite left his face these days. “I got a lot going for me.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Padmé. “I hope he’s fair with you.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled into her cup. “I make sure of it.”

“I’m very fair!” Anakin protested. “I’m actually the one who’s home most days, looking after these two little freaks. It’s a sweet gig.”

“We’ll have to figure something out once Ani gets busier,” Padmé murmured. “The Temple’s been a big help, but I feel bad leaving them there so often.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “And what are you planning to busy yourself with?”

“I have a couple things in the works,” Anakin said cryptically, pausing to take a bite of his food. “Tatooine, for starters.”

“Tatooine?” The locale was unexpected, but it only took Obi-Wan a moment to guess at why he’d be interested in going back. “You mean the slave trade? Unless you mean to take up racing again.”

“It’s still rampant there,” Anakin said, almost defensively. “The slave trade, I mean. And I’ve got pull in the Senate that I can abuse for aid, even if I’m no longer in the Order.” He nudged Padmé with an elbow. “It’s why we married in the first place.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, political ambitions were at the forefront of your mind on our wedding night.”

“It wasn’t  _ not _ on my mind,” Anakin said back with a grin.

Obi-Wan distracted himself with Luke so he wouldn’t stare. They had always been rather obvious with their affections, but seeing them openly flirting now, unhindered by secrecy, made something deep inside him ache. It was a happy ache, mostly, but he was also very aware that he was a third wheel.

“Well,” he hummed, taking another sip of his wine. “That sounds like—”

“It’ll be hard,” Anakin cut him off. “I know that.”

“I wasn’t going to shoot your idea down,” he chided gently. He set Luke on the bench next to him for a moment, just long enough to get a few bites in. “Only to say that yes, it’s delicate. It’s beyond the domain of the Republic, and conducting such a complex mission outside our borders—in Hutt space, no less—will be a very difficult sell, especially right now. You may find more purchase in the Senate if you start with systems closer to the interior. Prove your mettle, so to speak.”

“I got lots of that.” Anakin took another bite. “It’s a good idea, though.”

“I did suggest that before,” Padmé interjected, though her smile was fond.

“I was taking it into consideration,” Anakin assured her. “But I wanted a second opinion.”

Padmé exchanged an amused look with Obi-Wan. “It’s a fine plan,” he told Anakin. “And if you need a Jedi envoy, let me know. I have experience campaigning on your behalf.” His mouth quirked, and he set his meal aside as Luke began to grumble beside him.

One of Anakin’s dark brows arched. “You wanna go back to Tatooine?”

“Not really,” Obi-Wan conceded. “But it’s for a good cause. And it would certainly give you more sway. You’ll just need to do it before I’m assigned to any long-term engagements, otherwise I won’t be of much help.”

“I’ll have to get on with it then.”

“But then, what do we do with you, hm?” Obi-Wan considered the boy in his lap, who was bored with his thumb and was making moves for the fork again. The utensil rattled on the table as Luke held his hand out, but he couldn’t manage to lift it.

“You know,” Obi-Wan said slowly, delicately, “the offer is always open, if you want to reconsider sending them to—”

“We’re not giving them to the Order,” Anakin interrupted him, so fiercely it made Padmé go still. Even Leia quieted in her babbling. 

“I understand,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “And I respect your decision. But the option is still there. And it would be a rather unique situation. I would look after their training—”

“No, you wouldn’t. The Council wouldn’t allow it in a million years. And we aren’t doing it anyway,” he added, properly agitated now. “You’ll just have to settle for seeing them during visits like this. Can you handle that?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “This isn’t a plot to trick you into letting me raise your children, Anakin, and I’m deeply sorry if I somehow ever gave you that impression. But I am cognisant to the fact that teaching two Force-sensitive children by yourself is going to be a serious challenge—”

“One that I— _ we— _ don’t have a problem undertaking.”

“Well, that’s good, then.” He offered a smile. “As long as you’re prepared.”

Anakin looked away, hunching down over his meal. “Yeah, well, we are.”

The silence that followed was deeply uncomfortable, broken only by Leia smacking her palms on her high-chair desk and laughing at how her crayons rattled with the impact. 

Obi-Wan watched Luke in his lap, oblivious to the tension at the table. He’d finally managed to get a hold of his fork again—though he’d leaned over to pick it up—and was twisting it back and forth under the low light of the diner, watching the metal sparkle with awe.

This isn’t what he wanted. In all his years of knowing Anakin, it still blindsided him every time they managed to end up here—stubborn and silent and glaring off in different directions. 

Padmé intervened. “This is going to be a nice meal,” she told the both of them, as if her words alone could will that into existence, and settled a hand overtop Anakin’s. “We barely get to see you—or at least Anakin doesn’t. I have the pleasure of seeing General Kenobi regularly in meetings.”

“Yes, and what a pleasure that is,” he said dryly, smiling. He looked at Anakin then, who met his eyes, clearly as sheepish as Obi-Wan felt. Anakin gave a one-shouldered shrug after a moment, along with a shy tilt of his mouth that Obi-Wan returned, and all was suddenly well again. 

Leia began her next wave of protests just then, clearly upset she was still confined to her chair, and Obi-Wan stood up to switch them out. “Tell me about your wedding plans,” he said, hushing the girl as he tucked Luke back into his seat. “Your  _ second _ wedding plans, I should say.”

“Tell us what’s going on with you first,” Anakin countered. “You still haven’t said anything.”

He looked up, pressing Leia to his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

His former Padawan rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “You know what I mean.” Anakin waved a finger around in a circle, indicating his face. “Your battle wounds, for starters.”

“Ah, that. I got into a fistfight at a bar.” He sat down with Leia again. “Or, well, not a bar. It was a diner.”

Anakin stared at him, speechless for once. Even Padmé struggled for words. Obi-Wan smiled. “So that is ‘what is up’ with me. Now tell me about the wedding.”

“Uh.” Anakin took a long swig of his wine, and his eyes watered as a result. “No,” he said hoarsely, and coughed into his sleeve. “No, we aren’t breezing by that. Why did you— _ how _ did you get into a bar fight? When? Wouldn’t that have been in the news?”

“Diner,” he reminded him. “And it was last night. It’s not a big deal. I was wearing civvies, so nobody recognised me.”

_ “You _ were wearing  _ civvies?” _

“Yes,” he said impatiently. “As I said, it’s not—”

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé interrupted, cutting off her husband’s sputtering. “I think we’re both more interested in your health. You don’t seem yourself.”

“No, I’m definitely interested in the fight.” Anakin made some space on the table and tapped a finger on the wooden surface. “Tell me how it played out. What’s the geography of this thing?”

He shot an apologetic look to Padmé. “Well for starters, I won, as I hope you can guess.”

“Yeah obviously. If you got your ass kicked by some random guy, then we’d have a much bigger problem on our hands. Who was it, though? How did it start? What—”

“You are stalling,” Padmé cut in again, and Anakin looked at her in surprise. She let out a sigh and gave Obi-Wan a disapproving look. “Stop distracting Ani. What’s going on?”

He handed Leia a piece of her lunch from her tray, using it to buy time so he could gather his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Perhaps I’m—”

“You don’t know,” Anakin echoed, and then puffed out his chest as he performed a poor mockery of Obi-Wan’s accent. “Search your feelings, Padawan.” 

He glared at him. “I was going to tell you. And I do not sound like that.”

Anakin leaned back in the booth, spreading his arms across the back. “I’m just reminding you of your own advice. And yes you do.”

“Thank you for that,” he said dryly, and then heaved a sigh. “As I was saying,” he continued, “I guess I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately. It’s getting harder to cope with change.”

“A lot’s been changing,” Padmé said softly. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

He smiled sadly at her. “You have your own lives—and two little ones to look after.” He bounced Leia on his knee. “I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Padmé replied. “But you don’t need to do it by yourself.”

He conceded that with a nod. “Then allow me to be nosy,” he said to her. “And tell me about your wedding plans.”

* * *

It took some persuading, which mostly involved Anakin wearing his old Master down into compliance through sheer force of annoying will, but it took  _ less _ persuading than Padmé thought it would. Most of Obi-Wan’s excuses for not spending the rest of the day at their apartment with Anakin and the kids seemed to be delivered by rote, and she could see how desperately he wanted to spend time with them. So by the time lunch was over, Padmé had prevented a second argument from starting, and Obi-Wan had promised to stay for the afternoon.

“I have to go back for a few hours,” she told the both of them, watching Anakin buckle both kids into the backseat of the speeder. “I’ll take a cab lane, it’s faster.”

He paused to duck down and give her a kiss. The instinct to push him away _ —Obi-Wan is right there!— _ dissipated after a moment, and she smiled into his mouth. “Be good to each other,” she whispered to Anakin. “Be patient.”

“Aren’t I always?” he replied, and then gave her a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep the peace.”

“Good. Go get seated, then. I need to talk to Obi-Wan.”

He raised a brow. “About what?”

“He needs help with our wedding gift and asked me not to tell you,” she explained. “Go on.”

“It better be a good surprise.” Anakin jogged around to the other side of the speeder, making a show of looking at them, and then ducked into the driver’s seat.

“This way.” Waving Obi-Wan away from the car, she pulled him a good distance into the parking lot until she was sure Anakin couldn’t overhear. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked when they were well out of earshot.

“I don’t know, is it?” She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m really worried about you.” Beyond what Anakin had gotten out of him about the fight, he hadn’t really told them much. Their conversation had focused on wedding plans, on the kids, and on how Anakin was adjusting, and it had been such a joy to see them both talking that she hadn’t realised how much he’d dodged around their questions until now.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her, but the response was automatic.

“Which means you aren’t now.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “I’m not getting into it with you in a parking lot, my dear.”

“Then give me the briefing notes. General,” she added, her expression cheeky.

His brow twitched. “Are you pulling rank on me?”

“I’m getting you focused. Now please answer my question.”

He spared a quick look over his shoulder, back at the speeder. “I’m having some trouble adjusting, that’s all.”

“With Anakin leaving, you mean?”

“Yes. Please don’t tell him that,” he said with a sigh, turning back to her. “He’ll think that I’m upset with him. I’m very happy, for both of you, I just—I’ll be fine,” he repeated, looking away. It was as unconvincing a reassurance as it had been before.

“For what it’s worth, he misses you a lot,” Padmé told him. “He talks about you constantly.”

Obi-Wan gave her a pained smile. “I’m glad to hear he’s not the only one.”

There was a pause of silence. She could see the agitated tick in his jaw, the consequence of clenching one’s teeth without realising it. Tension radiated off of him, something she picked up on even without the benefit of Force-sensitivity.

Padmé patted his arm. “And I won’t tell him,” she promised. “Just as long as you do.”

He raised a brow. “I certainly won’t say anything. It’ll just start an argument.”

“Not if you say it the right way.”

“The right away,” he repeated with a mutter, looking off into the parking lot. “It’s been fourteen years and I still don’t know what the right way is. Not when it comes to Anakin.”

She smiled. “Honesty is usually a good start. He’s worried about you, too, you know. Promise me you’ll talk to him.”

His eyes flicked to her. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Do or do not,” she said back at him. “And if you don’t, I’ll find out, and I will call you in the middle of the night and bother you until you do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, smiling faintly.

“Good.”

“You guys almost done?” Anakin called, peeking out over the hood of the speeder. “Kids are cranky.”

“Yes!” Padmé called. “One more moment.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What else?”

“The wedding gift,” she told him. “I wasn’t lying.”

Padmé pulled her purse around to the front and dug around inside until she felt an envelope. Grabbing it delicately, she extracted it from the depths of her purse and held it out to Obi-Wan.

He took it gingerly, his thumb running across the embossed lettering on the front. “A wedding invitation,” he said. “I already have one.”

“I know. That one is for Ahsoka.”

He looked up at her, eyes wide. “What?”

“I know you’ve been in regular contact with her.” 

He was taken aback at that. “How do you know that?”

“You just told me.”

“Oh—that’s a dirty trick.” Obi-Wan sighed, his mouth turning. “Yes, I’ve spoken with her. I would hardly call it regular contact, though.”

“Good. Give her that, then.” She glanced over his shoulder at the speeder. “I haven’t told Ani, in case she says no. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. And I didn’t want her to feel pressured to come.”

Obi-Wan looked back down at the card. “I don’t know if she’ll accept,” he whispered after a moment. “I know they… haven’t spoken.”

“I know. But I was hoping you could put your Negotiator hat on and work some magic.”

He snuck a mischievous look her way. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Padmé remained unimpressed. “You know, I’m starting to understand why you and Anakin get into so many spats.”

He actually laughed at that, and it made him look his age for a moment. But then he sobered, and tucked the envelope into the protective fold of his robes, hidden from view—and intrusive little fingers. “I will see what I can do,” he promised her. “This gives me a good excuse to catch up with her, anyway.”

“Good.” She pulled him into a tight hug that he quickly reciprocated, and Padmé clung to him for a moment. He probably hadn’t gotten a hug in a while. “Have fun with them,” she whispered. “And relax.”

“I will.” He pulled away, giving her arm a squeeze, and looked back at the speeder. “I should go.”

“So should I. Be good. And patient!” she called as he walked away.

“Aren’t I always?” he called back.

Padmé stood in the parking lot, smiling as she watched them drive off. Anakin leaned around Obi-Wan to give her an emphatic wave through the passenger window, and then in another moment they were gone, and she was alone.

Back to work.

* * *

“Is laying like that helping your back?”

Obi-Wan’s head shifted so he could look down at Anakin, raising an unimpressed brow. “My back doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s good,” Anakin replied, settling more comfortably on the ground beside the couch. “That means it’s working.”

“That’s not—never mind.” Obi-Wan sighed, but it came out fondly.

Anakin closed his eyes, smiling faintly. Leia was lying atop his chest, tuckered out from the hard work of babbling at her toys, which now lay strewn about on the floor. He rested his hand across her tiny back, feeling it rise and fall with each even breath. 

Obi-Wan laid the opposite way, up on the couch, which Anakin had graciously given up to him. Luke was similarly passed out on top of his chest, his mouth puckered in a soft ‘O’ that whistled as he slept. Ideally the twins would be taking their afternoon nap in their beds, but Luke had fallen asleep on Obi-Wan while playing and Anakin didn’t have it in him to take the kid away—not after he saw the soft, quiet look on Obi-Wan’s face. And the floor was comfortable enough.

“How is your hand doing?” Obi-Wan asked, and Anakin opened his eyes. 

He held up his prosthetic to examine it, wiggling his fingers. “It’s okay,” he said after a moment. “I have to keep the glove on when I’m around the kids. They like sticking their fingers into the joint sockets. Why?”

“You haven’t dropped in for a tune-up in a while. I wondered if you’d found another doctor to look at it for you.”

“Oh. No.” Anakin let his hand fall back to his side. “I can do most of the adjustments myself anyway. I just went to the Halls because Master Vokara made me.”

Obi-Wan suppressed a laugh to keep from jostling Luke. “I know. She was complaining about your absence the other day.”

“Huh.” Anakin huffed. “Surprised you guys talk about me.” It hadn’t meant to come out bitter, but he couldn’t help comparing it to Ahsoka’s own departure from the Order—she’d practically become a forbidden topic in the Temple afterwards, both at the dinner table and in casual conversation.

“All the time,” his old Master said softly.

Anakin was silent for a while, unsure of what to say to that. His mind drifted back to the brief conversation he had with Mace—about not bothering Obi-Wan. He wondered if they talked about him then, too. He wondered what they said.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked, sensing his shift in mood.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just—Mace made some comment about leaving you alone this morning.”

“To you?”

His mouth twisted, as if there was an unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Yeah.”

“I see.” It was Obi-Wan’s turn to be silent. “He’s just being protective,” he said eventually. “Mace has been a good friend, especially in recent months. But I’m sorry if he made you feel unwelcome. I’m sure that wasn’t his intention.”

Anakin looked up at the ceiling, his eyes finding loose patterns in the paint. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Need protection,” Anakin clarified. “From me.”

Obi-Wan’s head angled down on the pillow, trying to catch Anakin’s eyes. “Of course not,” he said, earnestly enough that it eased some of the tightness in his chest. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

There was a pause before he responded. “Are you happy, Anakin?”

The counter-question took him aback. His eyes flicked to Obi-Wan. “Like in general?”

“With this.” He gestured to the twins, to the apartment Anakin now owned with Padmé. “With your life.”

“Yes,” he replied, the answer coming to him simple and untroubled. His mouth ticked up involuntarily, and he pressed Leia more tightly to his chest. “Yeah, I am.”

Obi-Wan shifted back, looking up at the ceiling again. “Well, then, that’s all that matters.”

Anakin sighed. “I don’t know how you do that,” he muttered. 

“Do what?”

“Answer questions without answering them.”

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly. “It is a useful skill, my Padawan.”

Their conversation lapsed again. He listened to Leia’s tiny, even breaths, focusing on the surprising amount of heat her little body radiated off. Usually by this point in the afternoon, he’d be tinkering in the modest workshop he’d set up in the extra room to occupy his mind for a few hours. Sometimes he fixed whatever little appliance was causing them grief in the house, but most times he’d just fidget. He had a few plans drafted for model toys to build for the twins when they were older—Republic Y-wings and grand Venators. It was usually enough to keep him from going stir-crazy, but he missed the hectic unpredictability of the war sometimes. Waking up not knowing what the day would bring was its own kind of pleasure.

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, you know,” Anakin mused after a while. “All this, I mean.”

Obi-Wan gave him an amused look. “Is that so?”

“I have to pick what I’m gonna wear every day, for starters,” Anakin told him, and it made him laugh again. He smiled along with him. “My alarm clock has become these two. And I have a ton of bills to pay now. But I don’t have to keep a daily expense log of my purchases for the Temple auditors, so that’s cool.”

“You never kept one anyway,” Obi-Wan protested. 

“Well, now I don’t have to pretend I do.”

“It certainly lightens my paperwork load,” he said fondly.

Anakin looked at him again. Obi-Wan seemed content enough, relaxed on the couch as he was. Luke was no doubt a stabilising influence on his mood, but even still, the troubled pinch around the corners of his eyes lingered. It made the lines on his face stand out more now, aging him beyond his years. The old man jokes suddenly felt a bit too prophetic for comfort.

“What about you?” Anakin asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you happy?”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond right away. The silence was more than enough of an answer, but maybe he’d finally be straightforward about it. Anakin waited patiently, trying not to concentrate too hard on Obi-Wan’s troubled register in the Force. He didn’t want to push him.

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” he eventually said.

He tried not to roll his eyes. “Okay. I get it.”

“You get it?”

“The thing with Mace,” he explained. “You’re an empty-nester. It’s understandable. I’d be devastated if I wasn’t in my life all the time either.”

He braced himself for a lecture. To his bewilderment, Obi-Wan laughed instead. “You continue to surprise me, Anakin.”

He looked at him. “How’s that?”

“I was afraid you’d think I resented you for leaving.”

“Well, do you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said immediately, and in that smooth, careful tone of voice that told Anakin he’d rehearsed whatever he was about to say. “Of course I don’t. You’re an adult. What you do with your life is your choice, and I’m proud of the ones you’ve made for yourself. They seem like the right ones, all things considered.”

“There you go, then.” Anakin grinned. “We’re good.”

“We’re good,” Obi-Wan echoed quietly, soundly deeply uncertain.

“What?”

“I—” He heaved a sigh. “This was too easy,” he said. “I thought this would be a long, drawn-out argument.”

“I mean I can start one if you want,” Anakin offered. “I don’t have much going on this afternoon.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “No, that’s quite alright.” He hesitated for a moment. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For helping me say it the right way.”

Anakin shrugged. His old Master was being particularly sentimental today, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. “Anytime.”

Obi-Wan smiled back at him. It was that same tentative, mournful kind of smile he remembered being so familiar with as a boy. His throat tightened at the sight of it, and reached up to grab Obi-Wan’s hand on the couch. It was something he hadn’t done in years, but it felt like the right thing to do.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” he assured him. “I want you to be a part of all this. It’ll just be a little different from before.”

Obi-Wan squeezed his hand, almost painfully intense. “I’m glad,” he replied, a bit hoarsely. He very carefully avoided eye contact, and blinked heavily as he stared at the ceiling.

Anakin closed his eyes again, allowing Obi-Wan to keep a hold of his hand. It reminded him of when he was a boy, crawling into bed with his Master to stave off upsetting dreams. Obi-Wan never pushed him away or told him to go back to his own room, even when he was far too old to be doing such a thing. He hoped that maybe this would make up for all those times somehow, to pay him back in some small, quiet way.

It was a while before he spoke again. “Obi-Wan?”

He waited for a response. At first he thought maybe Obi-Wan hadn’t heard him, but when he squinted back up at the couch, he saw his old Master’s face had gone slack with sleep. He’d looked exhausted all day, so it wasn’t really surprising.

Anakin squeezed his fingers again, smiling. The last thing he heard was the sound of Luke’s tiny, whistling snores before finally falling asleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on this fic so far! There are going to be several more pieces in this series, and next up will be focusing on Ahsoka. I hope you stick around for it, and thanks again!


End file.
